


It

by cereal_whore



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Blood and Gore, Bullying, Homophobic Language, I FORGOT ABOUT TEH WARNINGS, M/M, Past Abuse, RIP Kenma, Save them, Self-Esteem Issues, Smoking?, domestic abuse, hanamaki and matsukawa the meme team, healing happens tho, hyay, i was under an impression it was but lets go guys lets go, is that a tag?, lol dont do drugs kids, ngl i dont know where im going with this, right - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-02 10:30:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10942665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereal_whore/pseuds/cereal_whore
Summary: "And....I would like my toy back very much, sir, it's....just that my dad told me not to talk to strangers.""Well, here. I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown! And you're Kozume Kenma. Kenma Kozume, Pennywise. Pennywise, meet Kozume Kenma. See, now we're not strangers, are we?" He laughs."I guess so.""So, what do you think?""Well. For starters, you live in a drain,"---------------Or:rip kenma 2017.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is based off of 'It', where basically, a clown terrorizes this town and eats children. a 'clown'.
> 
> By Stephen King, who by the way, I would stab someone for [no i wouldn't]  
>  
> 
> It's been a year since I've been using ao3 and I still can't figure out how to indent on this website. :^)

"I like this song." Kuroo sways his head in exaggerated sweeps, his unruly hair fussing up into an even greater miss than usual. 

"Your mom is playing Beethoven."

"Yeah it sounds cool."

"It's not a metal concert." Kenma finalizes, as his amber eyes flicker up from his DS, and gaze judgmentally at his friend, who just grins cheekily, revealing two of his missing teeth. Kenma wonders when his tiny teeth will begin to follow down such a path, as well. Kuroo, though they're both in the same middle school, happens to be older than him by a year. Which isn't fun, since Kenma's only other friend is Hinata, who continuously clings onto Kageyama, therefore, innocently abandoning Kenma and leaving him to sit alone during lunch. Yes, he supposes it's partially his fault for not accepting the invite to sit with them, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, but he doesn't feel necessarily close with any of them other than Hinata, and maybe Kageyama.

Really, he only has one other friend in this entire school with the exception of his DS and Hinata: Kuroo, but he's in sixth grade, thus he has a different schedule, and a different lunch period.

"Shh," Kuroo snickers, but his laughs stutter as it's intervened by a series of sharp sneezes. Kenma rolls his eyes as Kuroo whines pitifully. "Stupid cold." He adds brashly, as if his decisions to go playing outside in the chilly autumn air while it was thundering just half an hour ago, wasn't the source of his current suffering, thus, not his fault. "Kenma, I'm dying-"

"Die then."

Kuroo's tongue pokes out at him, before it begins to gloss over his teeth as he experimentally shoves it through one of the holes in his mouth. "You know, you lose baby teeth really slowly." Kenma finally comments, and at this, Kuroo just clicks his tongue.

"You haven't lost any, yet!" He mutters with a puerile timbre. Kenma filters out Kuroo's words, as he focuses back onto his Pokemon game. Then, out of nowhere, he feels a calloused hand, that though is still tender from his young age, has already developed hardening skin from his intense practice for volleyball. "Stop." Kenma utters, and fluidly, swivels his head out from underneath his friend's hand, his thumbs not once stopping from tapping the triangle button of his DS.

He's truly a powerful force.

Kuroo's too busy devoting his time to annoying Kenma, though. 

Which is odd, because Kenma's seen the way that other students of his school peer at him enviously. Kuroo's rather loud, and extremely social despite his withdrawn and sly attitude [the boy tricked him into playing volleyball, or in other words, sweating, with him the first day they met. This is the reason why Kenma doesn't trust him] however in general, he's definitely the type of person who'd manipulate or lose themselves in an attempt to please others, and actually extremely docile and submissive as well. So, it doesn't take a lot of persuading to get Kuroo to let him eat a fourth slice of apple pie.

But, because of his tendency to be fun, loud, but willing to swap his personality to please others, everyone loves him, including teachers. Despite the fact that most of them labeled Kuroo has a troublemaker from day one. And everyone loves Kuroo. Which is why a lot of people glower at Kenma jealously, with an expression that Kenma can easily conclude, even though he's only eleven, that others were only approaching him in hopes of getting close with Kuroo, who now ditches his sixth-grader friends to hang out with Kenma.

And Kuroo doesn't even like the same things as Kenma. Kenma despises anything that requires too much exercise for his lithe body, unlike Kuroo, with his tall build, and slender frame can easily go chasing after a ball with ease. So Kenma at first, though he wasn't sure why due to the fact he still has a mindset of a ten year old, felt guilty. He wasn't sure where this emotion spawned from, as normally, he would be irritated by Kuroo's advances, but, he felt bad that he's holding Kuroo back when he must be bored just perched at the bench each recess, submitting to silence as he watches Kenma play on his DS.

Kenma began to bring his older DS to give to Kuroo, starting last week, so that both of them can play at the same time, and make general comments to each other. 

"Kenma, I just remembered, I left my volleyball keychain outside!"

At this, Kenma just glances at him, unimpressed, before fixating his attention once more, on the tiny screen [that his mother would always scorn him for, claiming his eyesight will go bad], showing obvious dismissal to his friend's feelings. "I'm going to go and get it." Now, Kenma definitely wasn't expecting  _that_.

"Wait, Kuroo-" Kenma automatically jackknifes up and off the rumpled futon that Kuroo's mother dragged out for him, and stared hard at his friend. "I'll go get it." He offers, and even Kuroo seems startled, as his hooded eyes dilate into widen ones, and his curled lips lax into one where his jaw unhinges. "You have a cold." He explains simply, as if that was the only reason why he's bothering to suggest sending himself out into the thunderstorm. 

"It's fine...." Kuroo beams. "You really don't have to go." He adds, his voice more confident this time. 

Snorting, Kenma is able to easily tell that Kuroo does actually want him to go, and that he does want that cheap volleyball keychain he got from the carnival back. "It's fine. You left it in the backyard, and the thundering is starting to fade." He mutters. He's pretty sure the lightening is ceasing to appear, as well.

Then as if on cue, as the distant music of the piano shatters out from the role of being a background noise, the crunch of chords played together into one intense note, crashes with the crescendo of thunder outside.

Kenma's mouth quickly dries. "It'll be fine. Just wait inside." Kenma turns to Kuroo.

* * *

Kuroo pouts, as he curls on his bed. He's very happy that Kenma is willing to grab his keychain for him. He's even happier that the reclusive boy who really doesn't like doing much of anything that doesn't involve his video games, is even bothering with this. And besides, though Kuroo is slightly frightened by the thunderstorm [not like he'll ever tell Kenma-he's eleven, he can't just admit he's still afraid of loud noises, that's for babies], he's still willing to go outside and dig around the dirt for his keychain.

And he doesn't want to gain disfavor with Kenma, someone who intrigues him greatly, and is very nice to Kuroo, by sending him out. But he doesn't want to go out in the thunderstorm. So, not really sure what to do now, he just waits patiently on his bed, excited for their sleepover to continue, as he pops open another crinkly bag of chips that's really just overpriced air. He supposes he could go help Kenma outside, but Kenma would get mad at him, along with his mom, for being in the rain after catching a cold. His mom is pretty close to just sending Kenma back home in hopes that he doesn't catch Kuroo's cold, and it already took an awful lot of bribery and begging and crying to allow his mother to continue on with their plans. So he doesn't want to anger her anymore.

His mom.

He listens to what she's doing. He focuses on the crescendo of the notes, the type that always sends him shuddering by the ominous tone. It's almost hypnotic, and he can practically imagine his mother's elegant yet spotted hands, dancing hauntingly in an eerily happy manner along the unsuspecting keys, before slamming down brutally, provoking a melodious scream from the instrument.

He waits for Kenma. 

* * *

Kenma isn't sure why he's attempting to appear favorable to Kuroo.

Maybe because it's simply his first friend. Kenma really hasn't ever had any other friends before Kuroo. He never understood loneliness. Yes, he knows the concept of it, but since he's never had another feeling to compare his previous, lackluster, Kuroo-less life with until now, he never truly fathomed the situation in a mental manner.

It's like describing a deaf person, 'you're deaf'. Yeah, but if nobody ever told them they were deaf, they would've assumed everyone else was just like them until they noticed something was wrong. And since they presumably never 'heard' before, they had no reason to think they were deaf, or simply pity themselves.

That was how he felt. 

Before he really met Kuroo. Yes, his video games were satisfactory company, and he had his cat, Pudding, but he supposes he never had a reason to become unsatisfactory with his life until now.

His eyebrows furrow downwards. He's thinking too much like an adult. Too much effort. Sighing, his rubber boots slop against the muddy puddles forming in the uneven yard behind Kuroo's squat house. Where is the keychain? How bothersome. The keychain itself is fairly tiny, and he really hasn't thought this entire plan out. And the sky is darkening, as well, ergo, it'd be harder to scour for a tiny object with only that much light. At that sudden realization that came way too slow for his liking, he crankily sloshes through the soupy ground, ready to return back into the shelter of the house, until he hesitates.

Kuroo would be disappointed that he didn't get back his little toy that symbolizes sentimental value of that memory of their trip to the carnival, despite the actual object itself being probably less than two cents to manufacture. He sighs. 

Then, he remembers. He and Kuroo always walk back home from their school, which probably takes about fifteen minutes in total. The most exercise Kenma gets in a day. Perhaps it dropped on the sidewalk in front of his house? Well, yes, he knows that it's somewhat improbable-

But he'd feel bad if he didn't put in the effort and attempt to search for that stupid toy, after all, he told Kuroo he'd find it for him.

Sighing loudly at that thought, he flinches, recoiling farther behind the yellow rain slicker he's wearing, as water patters against his hood. He hates rain, water, or anything discomforting in general. 

 _Do this for Kuroo, that jerk. Whose mom makes you pie. The pie that you really like_.

Kenma convinces himself to go and at least look around the front of the house.

Then he sees it.

The flimsy keychain with a plastic, hollow toy ball attached to it, flouncing and bobbing along a tiny stream of water that's rushing quickly near the water grates. 

This is the second time today, that Kenma actually has to run.

Kuroo better appreciate him. 

The ball being quite noticeable due to its neon, orange color that contrasts the greyscale setting they're in, he doesn't lose sight of it as he quickly runs near the stream, and was ready to reach for the tiny ball-

When it's as if the water knew he was coming up, and deciding to ruin his day, it sends a crashing splash, and it sends the tiny ball through the concrete slot in the side of the sidewalk, with the water grate underneath it, to drain out rainwater into the sewers. Kenma stares, horrified that he lost something so precious of Kuroo's, and knowing tearfully, he can't just get the thing back out from the sewers. Then, something even more terrifying occurs: a gloved hand somehow jerks through the tiny slot of the drain, holding the plastic ornament.

Kenma is willing to scream and run, especially as two luminescent eyes appear, flickering sharply before settling on him. They were yellow, and unlike his despite being the same generic color, which he knew is considerably strange and genetically impossible, but these eyes, were neon. The color of puss and urine concocted with a hovering scarlet pupil that reminds Kenma of moldy apples that were rotting and decaying like the ones that fall off of apple trees and were never touched again-they color the eyes that clap on him in a predatory manner.

 _Just a housecat, Kenma. Just a housecat-_ when did housecats ever have human hands and wear gloves, though, Kenma?

Kenma is ready to run, until, the face itself moves.

The face behind the drain, only visible through the slot in the ground, shifts slightly, to reveal that lower upon its face, plastered on its chin, is a smile decorated with a cleanly made smear of red, decorating an array of jagged teeth. 

Kenma's quite slow on reaction, and doesn't visibly allow much expression to paint his facial features, as usually, if something startling does happen, he doesn't digest it right away until moments later. Which is why, rather than being sensible and running, he's only able to stare back, his knees buckling slightly as thunder crashes behind him, representing his current state of emotions.

"Hey there, kiddo!" 

Kenma stares, wondering if he's became ludicrous. Perhaps the apple pie was a little undercook even though it was absolutely heavenly earlier?

"Did you toy fall down the drain? Well I got it, here!" His gloved hand stretches farther up, still holding Kuroo's toy, and as he ascends his arm, Kenma can see the baggy, polka-dotted material coating his arms as sleeves.

_A clown._

That's right. 

How did Kenma mistake the smear of red on his grinning lips, earlier as possibly blood? It's definitely pasty and much too chalky to be blood.

And his eyes, Kenma's sure it must be the lighting that affected his eyes and he needed his vision to adjust, to realize, that really, the clown's eyes were perfectly normal and inviting underneath all the makeup. "Hey, Kenma, c'mon, take it."

"Ah....sure." Kenma mutters, still cautious, yet, he doesn't make a move to touch it. After all, he lives in a drain, it must be strange in some sense. Kenma might not know much about society, but unless if you're a politician, you don't live in the sewers, according to his mom. And this guy doesn't look like a lawyer or a politician of any sort.

"Do you not want it?"

"You're....in a drain."  _Good job, Kenma._   Great answer. This is why he has many friends.

"I sure am!" He laughs, and, to Kenma's shock, his lips curl upwards into a sweet smile as well, in response to the clown's laugh. It's one of those laughs you have to respond to.  _Kinda like Kuroo's. I just usually glare at him, though_. "So, Kenma, you want your toy?"

"How do you know my name? It's not fair if you know mine and I don't know yours." He replies flatly. "And....I would like my toy back very much, sir, it's....just that my dad told me not to talk to strangers." He answers in a mumble.

The clown bobs his head at this, smacking his lips caked with a thick line of red. "I see," he utters quite sympathetically. "Well, here. I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown! And you're Kozume Kenma. Kenma Kozume, Pennywise. Pennywise, meet Kozume Kenma. See, now we're not strangers, are we?" He laughs.

"I guess so."

"So, what do you think?"

"You live in a _drain_ ," he emphasizes, vaguely aware that he may be coming off as rude or judgmental. But he's much too practical and curious at the moment, to reconcile. How is it rationally possible for a creature to be living in a drain, and still be near the entrance when the only ground of it is probably hundreds of feet down? Kenma doesn't understand.

Maybe he's coming down with a fever? For a ten-year-old, he's quite rational and doesn't like to rely on his imagination a lot.

"A drain? C'mon! It's a carnival! A carnival!"

"A carnival? How did you and the carnival get down here?" Kenma asks, now less taunt and more trusting. The clown's smiling and friendly, thus, Kenma supposes the clown can't be that bad.

"I guess it just bleeew me away!" Pennywise snorts, and Kenma, once again, wearily grins. "The carnival....can't you smell it?" Pennywise's peppy voice sounds perverse in a disgusting way, prodding through Kenma's curiosity, through his head, tinkering with his thoughts without consent. "Hey, boy, don't you want to come and have a smell?"

"It's fine...."

"But, can you smell it?" 

Kenma's ready to say no, how could he possibly smell anything in this humid weather where the air's practically crackling with tension, but then a scent truly does waft up from the tiny slot of the drain. Yes, he can smell the peanuts roasted in honey, and Kenma bets after their toasting they're coated in sugar and salt- he can smell the overstimulating scent of the butter that's paired with the batch of heated kernels and warm popcorn, and if he leans closer: his nose can detect the caramelized sugar drizzled over the popcorn to create chunks of popcorn glued together with melted sugar-the smell of grease, but not unpleasant, as he can also identify the fried dough, as well as the fried batter of corndogs- _apple pie! He can inhale the cotton candy and the hot, buttery crust of a pie-_

He can smell the scents of a carnival, intoxicating and seductive in a scary sense.

But

_But_

He can detect the overwhelming, nauseating scent of a sewer, and though he's always known a sewer was most likely going to smell nasty, he never thought that it'd resemble the curdling scent of decaying flesh, like the smell that would waft from their fridge that one summer when it broke, and the liver they stored had easily rotted from the overwhelming heat, producing a bile-churning smell. Underneath that, is the natural smell of decomposing leaves. The layer of hot trash, heated, decomposing meat and ratshit-

is still not enough to overpower the festival-like scent of freshly fried food.

"Is there really a carnival down there?" Kenma asks. If he was in a sober state of mind, perhaps he would've assumed this was a dream. But, at the moment, he truly believes this is real life [and it is, no matter what that tiny voice in the back of his brain said], and if a clown could be found inhabiting the sewers, then why would it be strange for a carnival, where clowns perform and act, to be beneath their little town as well?

"You betcha! We even have balloons. Just like ya little toy here, it floats."

"The balloons float even under water?" Kenma unconsciously leans forward, unaware that over the past couple seconds of this rather enticing conversation, he's been slowly closing the distance between him and Pennywise. 

"The sewers are only partially filled with water, boy." Pennywise informs jauntingly, and, to get a better look and distinction of all the intense smells, he actually crouches down, the toy forgotten in the clown's palm as his attention is now fully fixated on Pennywise. "So yes, they float. They  _always_ float." He states, his voice reverting to a gravelly tone, as his lips grins, which in response, Kenma shudders, feeling trepidation for no apparent reason.

"Here's your toy," Pennywise says, his voice hushed, much unlike his previous rambunctious and jolly one, and Kenma reaches forward to grab it.

Pennywise's hand releases the toy, and snags onto his wrist instead. Kenma, unable to scream, can only stare, confusion and revulsion [for no apparent reason, once again], flooding through his senses as he can barely comprehend what's happening. "Oh, they  _always_ float, I float, and you'll float too when you come down here-" Pennywise's eyes, no longer crinkling with laughter, but, the whites flooded once more with the nasty shade of yellow that reminds him of cat vomit, and his grin sinister as the teeth appear like drills, sharp and viscious.

Kenma is finally able to scream when he feels a yank, and an immense tear of pain near his shoulder, as he writhes and jerk when he feels  _sharp-_

_Sharp!_

* * *

Kuroo wasn't sure if it was just his imagination that's currently provoking nightmarish screams into his head, because Kenma's been away for a  _long_ time and it's starting to scare him, especially when the thunder seemingly rumbled  _louder_

And then his mind began to produce screams spawned from a voice awfully familiar-

He just attempted to ignore it as he clamped his astronaut-patterned pillow over his ears, boxing them in an attempt to block out the screams-

When S _onate Pathetique_  no longer sings from their piano, but rather, another fitful slam of keys, but this time, with no harmonic or melodic value, as he hears a shout from his own mom, indicating that she really did stop playing the piece.  _Why....did mom shout?_  

Kuroo was quick to follow his mom out the door, who didn't even seem aware of his presence or that fact that he might've heard her shout, but, as he steps near the doorstep, he's able to clearly hear the wretched sobs, the distant screams that still fight their way over the thundering and heavy pounding of the rain. He runs outside, ignoring his clogged nose, ignoring the hard smacks of raindrops against his skin. He finds his mom steps away, her back to him, cradling something in her arms that she's glancing down at. 

Other people are also beginning to surround them due to the commotion. However, Kuroo himself doesn't know what the commotion is about. That is, until he skirts around his sniffling mother, to see the water rushing down the drain, filtered pink, and as he finds the source of the color, the water clearly starts off as stained crimson. "Mom...." He wheezes.

Because, clogging the entrance of the drain, is an entire arm and hand, gushed and blemished red.

 

Kenma died seconds later, either from shock or blood loss.

Does it really matter which?

 

 

In complete honesty?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kuroo never got his toy back.

 

He wishes he never got it in the first place.

* * *

Monsters aren't real. But each time Kuroo passes by the basement door, staring into darkness that is seemingly three dimensional to his child-like imagination, it really does almost engulf him and his sanity. And if he dares to look more than a couple seconds into the bottom of the basement, or outside when it's dark out, he visualizes two glittering eyes. They resemble, in a prettily enchanting sense, like Egyptian scarab's. Sharp and cold, but enticing and mysterious in an alluring way, cutting through the inky blackness.

Kenma's mother has taken a liking to him. Actually, if Kuroo isn't wrong, he personally believes that it's because they're desperately seeking for something that'd warm up the frost that settled around the household, and melt the two parents together. The parents have been arguing a lot, Kuroo realizes. He always rushes home before dinner, despite their insistence, running to his mom who doesn't seem remotely jealous by how they're stealing her child through most of the day, but is quick to sympathize with him and his second set of parents/neighbors.

The parents love him, even though he's only known Kenma for perhaps a year or so back when he was alive. It's as if the parents adopted Kuroo already as a second child. 

Kuroo doesn't know why.

It also didn't occur to him, until months after Kenma's death, that it was his fault.

The parents dote on him, constantly keeping his friendship with the dead boy by telling him stories that make him feel as if his relationship with the boy, even though he's no longer able to actually engage with him, is growing stronger. 

The parents that love him-

He killed their son.

He was the one who let Kenma run out, wasn't he? He was the one who was a coward, too afraid of thunder and hid within his house, and allowed his friend to suffer for just that sake and over a dumb toy, isn't that right?

And perhaps it's Kuroo's nature, but he wasn't aware that most humans are selfish and values self-preservation over others. So when he realized that he's relieved that it was  _Kenma_ who went outside and not him, thus preserving his life-

He hated himself.

Kuroo's ready stories, fantasies of heroes who risk their lives, their only thoughts revolving around the safety of others-

And Kuroo's a coward. He's selfish. He tried to deny it at first, but, the more he stares at the gaunt visages of Kenma's parents, the more he feels the cold chill, the darkness blanketing _something_ , the more he realizes, he feels obliged to admitting that he was glad back then, that it was Kenma who died and not him. The first reaction he had to Kenma's death, was,  _I'm glad I didn't go out there._  

Perhaps if someone told Kuroo, that it wasn't his fault, that it didn't make him a bad person for thinking this particular way, because after all, him reconciling and feeling bad about thinking such things already made him better than probably two-thirds of the human population, his sense of self-loathe would've at least been turned into more of a bitter understanding, a compromise where he'd learn that this was just human nature, and he must accept that.

But nobody did.

So as the people continued to swarm around him, as they reveal their breaking hearts, their cracking figures that signify that time truly doesn't heal everything-

Kuroo's left alone and afraid and not knowing, as he's silently dying on the inside and nobody notices-

_No, it's not like nobody noticed._

_Nobody cares, is simply what it is._  


	2. 22222222222222222222

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -lol apparently Karasuno is now gonna be a police/forensic team cuz why not
> 
> -Also we hear about one more murder, but this is just gonna be here. Not really gonna be a huge huge deal, but it kinda is. But not really.
> 
> -Also Karasuno Police team isn't gonna be huge in this story, like it's there, and it's big in the plot, but they're just gonna appear for one chapter because I wanted to include this part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm going to try and follow the plot of 'It', by Stephen King, that does mean that there will be a murder in the beginning of this chapter, over someone being gay, since that's what happened in the story. I decided to type it out, because I actually think that in this reality, this is a real problem, considering how people are actually targeted for being gay. so I decided that I might as well throw in this murder along with my story because it follows the plot, and also to remind people that this actually happens in real life, and I want to bring awareness to the fact that this is happening in real life, and in our day, over something like sexuality  
> If it's uncomfortable to you, I suggest you skip.  
> WARNING: there will be some uncomfortable language used here as well, and some gorey elements.  
> Since this chapter isn't too huge, it's just here to show thta the clown is still running around after seventeen years, you can skip this.
> 
> So basically, in the original story, the clown appears every twenty-seven years, to terrorize Derry, that specific town, and in this case, Miyagi.  
> I changed that to seventeen yeras, because I don't wanna write about thirty-something year old Oikawa running around and solving cases. 
> 
> This chapter is just to show that even though the kids thought that the clown was gone, it's like, 'no bitch you fucking thought' so yeah.
> 
> READ THIS PLEASE ^^

15 years since Kenma's death, and Miyagi's currently struggling through another murder [definitely not the first within the time difference, however]. But this time, committed by a human.

Sighing, Daichi just narrows his eyes at the seething man. "Please cooperate here," he grumbles. He's tired, and honestly cannot deal with anything today. "If you offer your cooperation, it'd make things go along a lot smoother-you holding things up isn't going to change the inevitable." he states, though, between him and the three solemn young adults who are lined up in front of him, it's left unsaid yet known, that the inevitable is going to be jail. And possibly, for life.  _But knowing society, they'll probably only get a couple years,_ Daichi thinks snidely.

"It's not our fault that queer was waving around his fucking flag at the Miyagi Festival! Shit, I was trying to protect our reputation here." The eldest teenager of the three about to be convicted felons, Araki Akio, states spitefully. "He should've known better than to be prancing around. That lil' shit." 

Daichi's lips tightens uncomfortably. As an officer, that requires for him to remain calm in predicaments like these, and it's not as if he doesn't deal with homophobes-after all, Japan is still having a hard time modernizing and realizing that it's simply inhumane and should be morally unacceptable to despise someone just because of who they love. But that doesn't necessarily settle his temper.

Rather than leering at the man, Daichi just flips close his notebook as he cracks his knuckles. "So. You killed a man over the fact you can't handle him loving another man?" He sighs tiredly.

"Don't tell me you support those faggots!"

 

Daichi has a sudden urge to stab him with his pencil.

 

 _Bitch fight me I'm one of those 'faggots' as well._  

He's happily married to Sugawara Koushi, another _male_ , who happens to be working as a doctor and surgeon while being a badass at home. Which works, since Daichi sends criminals who may have gotten into a fight, over to Sugawara. Him being an officer, means that Suga can often come over and pet their trained German Shepherds, who love Sugawara since they remember him as their Savior. Sugawara is basically a drug dealer, only for dogs, and instead of handing out cocaine, he hands them treats.

"Our police force can't be supporting those unnatural shits." Akio continues with a disdainful expression.

Once again, Daichi reminds himself that he's not allowed to blur the lines between his professional and personal life and must remain unbiased towards the situation and the variables, therefore, he acts as if Akio's comments doesn't bother him. He glances to the side, to see that Nishinoya, his partner, faring less calmer. However, even the eccentric officer, is clearly trying his stable his concoction of anger and spite, so Daichi can give him kudos for that-he'd expect him to be committing a homicide by this moment.

He's seen Nishinoya get suspended from the force because he threw a unicycle at this one girl who laughed at his height.

Glad to know that he doesn't have to jail his own partner over manslaughter [yet. He's known Nishinoya to have a few close calls after forcing others to eat his 'cooked' creations].

"We'll separate all three of you, and receive a story from each individual. Please, Akio, go with Ennoshita." Daichi states professionally, gesturing to Ennoshita, who perks up at the call of his name. He doesn't assign Akio with Nishinoya, since that might lead to some crude and poorly thought out comments from Akio, and probably a fist from the shorter officer. Nodding at the youngest offender of the three, Daichi adds, "you're with me, and you-" he jerks his thumb at the last man. "Go with Officer Nishinoya, here."

* * *

"Look, look man, it was all a mistake, a mistake!" Daichi nods humbly, as he glances down at his notepad, and scribbles something down. Writing shit down always intimidates their suspects. In reality, he already has an electronic recorder in his pocket, whirring mutely and collecting every spoken word in this conversation between them.

However, he continues writing.

He jots down 'carrots'.

He's making his grocery list.

He's planning on making curry tonight. 

He also adds 'cat food', since he needs to buy some more in bulk for Lev, the Russian Blue cat that Sugawara adopted from the biker gang across town. It's a long story that Daichi doesn't want to get too far into. But it somehow involved a hairdryer, a shitload of cosmetics [apparently the leader of the bike game, someone by the name of Kiyiko, happens to be great at drawing sharp eyeliner wings, and Sugawara goes to her for tips], and a toaster.

The toaster no longer works.

"We didn't mean to go that far, it was an accident, we told Akio to stop but he wouldn't listen he was just so freaking mad-" Stammers Hideki Kyou, who's currently in interrogation for manslaughter. Daichi suspects either second-degree murder, or third.

The corpse of their victim, identified, and noticed to be brutally disfigured. The suspects were caught after HIdeki turned them all in. Of course, that was kept quiet from the other two suspects. They didn't need to stir more trouble amongst the three, but they received a call last night, who claimed they were Hideki, and confessed that there's possibly a man left for dead due to their actions that night.

"What made him mad enough, to kill a man over their sexuality?" He inquires, not angry or judgmental at all. For some strange reason, he's rationally calm, his stormy mind clear of anger. He can't help it, while glancing at Hideki. He's also checked Hideki's report-the kid's only eighteen, about to graduate in a couple days. Clearly he's not graduating _now_ -but he's not a bad kid. He has relatively good grades, until the end of the semester, and Daichi believes that's when it's reported he started hanging around Akio. He's informed by HIdeki's mother, who while sobbing, claimed that he was a good kid, helped around the house, and was a nice brother to their younger sister.

And Hideki looks so fucking scared, and his puckered sockets, lined with purple and holding two watery orbs that were his eyes-

Daichi can't find the previous indignant, raging emotions he had from Akio's insouciant and unapologetic attitude. Of course, while Daichi feels certain pity for Hideki, his personality and clear fear and the attitude, which Daichi perceives as he didn't want to kill a man over something so insignificant, that doesn't justify what he's done. May God save his soul.

"No, like....we actually came across Hira earlier." Hira Madoka-the man who died yesterday, with his washed up corpse found underneath the bridge nearby the sewer systems. Daichi had the absolute pleasure of seeing the cadaver itself.

Considering how the corpse was suspected to be shoved underwater in some way, and this is supported by the fact that they found his body bloated from all the water, bobbing near the shore of the lake where all the trash and litter resides. The water caused his skin to become supple, therefore it stretched and hung across his skeletal frame limply, with a texture that Daichi could decipher with only his eyes, as slimy and malleable. Something that he doesn't think skin is supposed to do. The eyes, were gone. Probably eaten clean by fish or something. Daichi can't tell, his expertise isn't categorized with autopsy or whatever-however, he knows that Tsukishima will figure it out; he specializes as a pathologist forensic.

But the body, though it already looks inhumane enough as it is, Daichi hasn't defined the actual marks that the three done. The body had multiple lacerations, which indicate knife marks purposefully made by another, and, the skin, though grey and sludge-colored by the long submergeon, the mottled color of green, purple and yellow were still there. Bruises.

Those three boys did it.

And Daichi's sympathy for the dead boy, outweighs the one he feels for Hideki.

"You came across Hira earlier?"

"Yeah....look, officer, w-we were at that festival yesterday-" right the Miyagi festival. It's a festival where they celebrated and lit lanterns, ate fried, greasy foods sold on the stalls that line the cobbled roads, and dress in traditional yukatas. Often, fireworks are popped as well. He went with Sugawara the other night, and they both received stuffed animals from Tanaka and Nishinoya, who as partners in crime, planned to win and wreck every single stall game there was and get all the prizes. "And....well, Akio saw Hira with another guy-"  _Probably his boyfriend, Ise Kin. Wait, noooo another person to interview I really wanna go home-_

"And....Akio started jeering and shit, ya know. Started calling him....names-" _Seems uncomfortable to mention homophobic slurs. I'm going to guess he felt pressured into teasing a person for being gay, but in general, has nothing against them. Sad._ "And....well,  Kan,-"  _Kan Mamoru, the last suspect of the three_. "Started doing shit too. And well, Hideki didn't seem phased, rather, he just blew a kiss towards Akio before flipping him off, and well, that made Akio really mad. Like....really mad. Then, he started teasing Akio, saying stuff like, 'you wish you got a piece of my ass', and said a bunch of shit to anger Akio on purpose. And Akio looked like he was gonna fucking murder him-" He winces. "Sorry, bad choice of words....and I don't wanna throw him under the bus or anything, but he looked really unstable. Akio....I don't....well, he got angry easily. I've seen him attack teachers-" he whispers, and Daichi supposes that even though Akio's clearly a bad influence and stepped over the line and didn't regret it, Hideki still had the emotion to try and avert talking bad about him. Out of fear or loyalty, Daichi's not sure, but he's not really leaning towards the latter in this one. "But Akio looked fuckin' pissed. I guess Kan noticed too, and kinda shitted at that, and told Akio to calm down. Which he did. And Hira's boyfriend, was telling him to 'stop it', because I guess he saw that Akio was ready to fight, and pulled his Hira away. We separated, and we thought it was okay, that it was all cool, that nothing bad was going to come after. I swear, I didn't think I was gonna see Hira ever again, ya know?"

Daichi hums in agreement, as he draws another stickfigure down to represent Akio. He likes to doodle down whatever people tells him. Makes a more interesting story to retell to Sugawara, who will later give him a look, before whacking him with the nearest object to him. Daichi tends to just tell him his stories in bed, where the pillows are usually what he'll reach for, and not in the kitchen, where their knives are usually flashing underneath the kitchen lights.

People think that Sugawara is an amazing cook-

Which isn't necessarily false, but Daichi prefers to cook himself. This way, he can keep an eye on every utensil in the kitchen, because Sugawara tend to be a creative fellow.

Which means he can make a weapon literally out of anything, including the cutting board itself. 

"So, as we were driving home, we started having a couple beers, right?" Daichi promptly scribbles down a couple rectangles to resemble beer. So they were possibly intoxicated. 

"How much?"

"Just enough to get tipsy, like, I don't drink-"  _of course you don't, really holy hell kid how did you get yourself in this mess you're basically a poster child,_ "and Kan doesn't drink a lot either, he only had a little bit like, a can. But....Akio had a shitload. He was basically shitfaced enough that we didn't let him drive. Kan took the wheel. But, while we were driving....all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Akio told us, specifically, 'to find those fuckers'. At first Kan and I had no idea what the living hell he was talkin' bout, but then, he started saying those slurs, and we knew. And we got nervous, because.....Akio looked really angry. I don't think it was because Hira was queer, but probably because Hira made fun of him back, and even implied if Akio was gay or shit, and that hurt his pride, so he wanted to get him back."

_Great, so a man got murdered because someone else's fragile-ass masculinity was tested. Nice to know that this is what the world's come to-and this isn't the first case that someone was killed over some crappy excuse like this._

"We got scared, both me and Kan, and we told Akio to stop it, but then, he had this....really, really fucking scary look, dude. Like, no shit it was really fucking bad, and he even crawled to the front, and jerked the wheel while we were driving, and started shouting and spittle even flew over us-that's how loud he screamed, 'turn the fucking car around you dipshits!' and since none of us wanted to defy a drunk Akio, who might actually hurt us if we don't listen....we followed. And while driving, we found Hira and his boyfriend, near the Kissing Bridge, that place."

Right, the Kissing Bridge. Daichi avoids that sketchy ass bridge decorated with graffiti as much as possible, since it was christened such a name because of all the hookups that'd randomly happen underneath the bridge, near the lake. That place constantly has the stench of trash set on fire. Tanaka loves to go there and arrest all the drug dealers that seem to be drawn there.

"And....well, we hopped out the car, and Akio grabbed Hira. His boyfriend started screaming and shouted to stop whatever the fuck he was doing, but Akio told Kan to grab him too, and we did. It wasn't fair, Hira and his partner were obviously weaker than us. And Hira made the mistake of teasing Akio, like, calling him a 'closeted kink-master' and stuff, but I could tell, he was scared. His voice was shaking. But Akio, because he was drunk off his ass, took his comment seriously, and started to beat him up. Told us to hold onto him. Don't let go. So....I did. I was-" If Hira didn't seem fucking fearful of anything earlier, he's definitely off his rocker now.

And maybe it's because Daichi had the 'fatherly instinct' that Sugawara and everyone else dubbed it as, but he felt the sudden need to reassure Hideki, but knowing that he shouldn't grow too attached to the boy, he just offers a tight smile of encouragement. 

He continues, his voice staggering as he begins to wheeze, indicating that he's starting to cry. Yes. Tears percolate through his bottom lashes, and journey down his flushed cheeks, as he sniffs loudly, snot beginning to dangle. "I....I was the one who held him down! I tried to convince myself that it wasn't my fault, that it was Akio, but it was my fault for being too much of a coward to defy him, and I was the one who grabbed Hira from behind. And then, Akio began to punch him. Hard. I felt it, I stumbled back a couple times. He jabbed him in the stomach, then, in the jaw, and then socked him in both eyes....it was bad. He even punched him in the balls, man! Like, that shit hurts! He started bleeding out of his nose, his lips, and his mouth-" Daichi bets that the forensic report will include a couple of missing teeth, if that's the case. "Then, his boyfriend began to sob and cry and shit, so Kan slammed his head against the wall, but I think it's because he was scared. I saw the way Kan stared at the crumpled body, he looked so afraid and so shocked at what he done, I think, when the boy started crying, he didn't know what to do, and was afraid of what the boy or Akio would do to him so he just...."

"So he slammed his head against the fucking wall."

"Okay, yeah, I know that sounds pretty bad-"

"Not as bad as killing a guy over his sexuality."

Maybe it's because that Daichi's obviously bantering with a lilting timbre, and the boy smiles at that, before attempting to clean his face of tears and snot with his sleeves. "Y-yeah. Okay that was pretty bad."  _Understatement of the year,_ he muses rather sardonic amusement, and at this, he internally winces. He's sounding like Tsukishima. Well, at least he benefits with a calmer, and somewhat entertained Hideki. "And when he started getting beat up, we....we dragged them underneath the bridge. We lugged the two of them over our shoulders, and dragged them underneath the bridge, you know, where all the heroine addicts hang out."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Akio just told us to do it, and we did. I....think he wanted to hold them underwater or something." His voice decrescendos into a whisper. "But we never got to that. Because as we went down, and Akio continued to beat the shit out of Hira while making his boyfriend watch, the clown appeared."

Daichi's pencil tip stops scratching, and he peers at the boy. "A clown?" 

A blank countenance crosses the boy's features, which he discerns as eerily calm, compared to his earlier, sniveling form. Genuine, honest, unafraid of speaking whatever he believes in. "Yeah. The clown. Did....did Akio or Kan not say anything about it for the police report?" Yesterday, they dragged Akio into the station and started to talk to him. They've gathered the three today, to get a full report. They placed the three in individual cells overnight, as they recovered and searched for the body first, to see if there truly was a possible murder. They found the body this afternoon. "There was a clown. Standing underneath the bridge."

"A clown?" He echoes his previous claim with disbelief evident in his tone.

Panic ensures on the boy's face, as he begins to stammer once more, clearly afraid that Daichi might intervene with disbelief. "Yeah, a clown! Really, I know it sounds weird as fuck, but underneath the bridge, standing near the water, was this clown! A clown wearing a baggy suit, and looked like a typical clown you'd find at a fair. I think maybe he did come from the festival. Anyways, his face was white and he had orange hair."

Now, he's heard of drug abusers, kidnappers, and the occasional lost pizza-deliverers who took the wrong road and were unfortunate enough to end up at the Kissing Bridge, but a clown definitely is the first for him. [The pizza deliverers always ended up mugged. Because even cocaine addicts value pizza above anything else, apparently].

"And....out of nowhere, it said, 'Ise, if you need help, I'm here for you'. The clown said that. It was, strange."

"Then?" Daichi contemplates if the clown was just made-up, in an attempt to lessen their punishment. But the moment the idea of the clown crossed the boy's lips, his pale visage ashen even more, and his eyes look ready to shiver right out of their sockets. And maybe it's contagious, but Daichi suddenly feels himself bristle as well.  _Don't be silly. It's just a clown, if Suga was here to see you getting nervous over some possibly made-up story, he'd give you The Look, before locking you out of the house._

Suga has once locked him out of the house because he ate the last bag of Doritos.

"He just....grabbed Hira. Snagged him straight out of my arms, man, and I was so scared, because I was so close to the clown. I was _footsteps away from him_ ," Hideki's body locks up, as his shoulders hike up and he grabs his adjacent arms with each hands. "And his eyes, they're probably contact lenses, but they were pure silver. Trust me, they ain't like just pale blue, they were silver, silver as a coin. And like, yeah, they were probably fake, but they looked so real, ya know. Like as if they were two steel orbs. And then, he smiled. Akio fucking screamed, and started waving his knife everywhere, and shit. But then, the clown was looking straight at the boyfriend. And then he said, 'Ise, come join us,' or somethin' and then 'float with us' or something along those lines." Daichi's eye twitches. Hideki's still young. And underneath stress and that traumatic experience, it's not impossible for him to mistaken the clown's words, or maybe, the clown was another culprit that was on crack and happened to lounge underneath the Kissing Bridge.

Because for some reason, that's not strange in Miyagi. 

"And then, dude, I swear what I say next is real-"

"Uh huh." By this point, Daichi's not really sure how much farther 'strange'.

"But when he smiled, I saw like a mouthful of jagged teeth. Like sharp rows of teeth, no kidding. And then, he placed it near Hira's armpit, and....well, it looked like he was gonna bite him."

"What'd you do next?"

"Kan fucking ran, and I persuaded Akio to follow by screaming at him in two seconds, and we just ran away. Left the body to the clown." He begins to choke out the next words, his sentence stunted with dry, shoulder-racking sobs. "We left the poor fucking boy, to that monster, and I could hear, _I could hear the boy screaming! He was crying and sobbing and begging for us to come back even though we were the ones to beat him up, he was so fucking scared and we just_ -" By this point, his words were completely incoherable, thus Daichi had to end the recording and lead the boy away.

He finishes his report with Hideki Kyou.

* * *

Daichi sent the sobbing teenager over to Kinoshita, who with his snark and sarcastic yet uplifting comments, will probably be sympathetic enough for the boy. Most likely, Kinoshita will start making fun of his work partner, Narita, whose name translates to 'Rice Paddy', in an attempt to cheer up Hideki, who most likely, condemned for jail.

Right now, he's actually talking to Ise, who they asked to come over to the station to give an eye-witness account. Ise actually filed a report last night, just an hour after Hideki. 

"I was so scared." Daichi offers a pat on Ise's shoulder, to convey sorriness. "They dragged me and Madoka down underneath the bridge....and they started punching him. I wanted to get up, I swear to God I did. I really wanted to, but I couldn't move, my head had this weird ache, and I couldn't move my arms and body, my body wouldn't listen. But I was still partially conscious, and....then I heard Madoka start screaming." The boy couldn't be older than fifteen, and his hands are trembling, as he repeats the circumstances he witnessed befall on him and his boyfriend, Hideki Madoka.

"And so, I started screaming. If it came out more of a croak, I wouldn't know, I couldn't hear myself over the blood pounding my ears." He says, his words hollow as they fall off his lips. And Daichi assumes that the boy probably rewinded the event in his head and translated the memory into words over a million times, if he's still able to continue talking so fluidly and with such ease, despise his dilated eyes and buckling knees.

"I started screaming, praying, and I didn't believe in a god, but I started praying that night. Really, I did. I started praying to God for Christians, praying that even though his religion forsaken gays like us, I heard from somewhere he loved everybody. So I prayed really hard that night, screaming 'God please help us!' And I started screaming, 'someone help us' eventually, over and over again, I swear I did, but nobody came. But then I heard a voice out of nowhere say, 'Ise, if you need help, I'm here for you." 

Daichi's grip on his pencil tightens, and his eyes flicker down to his notepad. 

There, messily printed to the side, next to his poorly drawn stick figures, were the exact words from his earlier interrogation with Hideki.

"Now....this is gonna sound crazy, but I fucking swear, I was able to see in the distance, and even though my vision was slightly impaired after being smacked in the head or whatever, I swear what I saw was true-a clown. Looked....looked like a cross between Bozo the Clown and Ronald McDonald's-" Daichi has no idea who the first name was, and he hates McDonalds. He once ordered a chicken patty sandwich, and literally got a bun with chicken nuggets squirted with ketchup between it.

Five out of five, great service and great food. 

His cashier literally looked so fucking annoyed when Daichi requested for more ketchup packets, and popped his gun with such sass before sighing loudly and reaching underneath the counter. Like, why the fuck is McDonalds so extra?

"And that clown, was just standing there. I don't know, maybe he was there earlier- I was out of it. I wouldn't have noticed. But he was there, and he stared at us. And then, Akio flipped out. Started threatening him with a knife. Started screaming and shit. Then the clown took Hira."

"What did he do to him?"

"He....I don't know, my vision was blurry, but he held him in an odd way, like, his mouth was to his chest, and he stared directly at me-I know, I know, my vision was weird but I  swear, he looked me in the eyes, and then said, 'Ise, come join with us. Come float with us." Daichi inwardly shudders. 

"He called you by your name?" 

At this, Ise looks down at his scuffy shoes. 

"Yeah. I know how it sounds. When I heard him, I finally got my body moving. I forced myself too, I was so fucking scared, I made my inapt brain to function with me. And...I heard Madoka crying when I got up."

"Then....what did you do?"

His head snaps up, and Daichi can feel himself, see himself drown in those ocean eyes as tears pool over. His voice cracks, shattered by croaks of empty, hollow sobs.

"I fucking ran, you dumb shit."

* * *

Daichi makes sure that Tanaka is watching over the trio of murderers, and for once, doesn't attempt to falter Tanaka's disgruntled attitude. Usually, Tanaka picked up the hobby of basically terrorizing everybody they come across.

And it's Daichi's job to stop him.

And people still wonder why he looks as if he wants to stab someone with a spork every single morning.

Well, today he's heard enough weird shit and too tired to comprehend half of the things everybody said to stop Tanaka, and honestly, Tanaka could be forcing an entire gallon of mayonnaise down Akio's throat and he wouldn't care.

Mayonnaise is the devil's work, and Sugawara loving that shit just proves his belief even more.

"Hey." He heads to Ennoshita. "What did Akio say?" He questions in a low tone.

"Had a lot of words that I don't feel like would be appropriate to say." Ennoshita says simply with a shrug. Daichi appreciates Ennoshita. He's actually the only person on their entire force who doesn't make him want to shove his own head into a toilet bowl and attempt to drown himself by flushing the toilet. He supposes it's because Ennoshita's the one who has to deal with Tanaka the most, being his fiance and all. Thus, Daichi can relate to Ennoshita's constant semi-ironic look of wanting death. 

"Did he mention a clown?" Daichi inquires.

Ennoshita gives him the expression of absolute incredulity he often gives to Tanaka whenever he finds him raiding the fridge at four in the morning for pudding cups.  _"Why?"_

Daichi ponders if he should confide to Ennoshita. He's trustworthy and reliable, however, due to his practical mind and the fact that he still hasn't had caffeine this morning, that indicates he'd probably just call bullshit on his statement, and dismiss Daichi's suspicions. Well, he hasn't had coffee either and he has to deal with Nishinoya's sugar high because there's only one candidate who could've eaten all those munchkin doughnuts that Kiyiko left out this morning-

So oh well. No fucks given by this point.

"The other two claimed they witnessed a clown."

Ennoshita scoffs, not unkindly, as he clicks his tongue that You sure they weren't saying that to try and place the death on someone else?" Ennoshita frowns.

"No. One of them was the boyfriend himself-Ise."

"That kid was underneath a lot of stress, and hell, saw his boyfriend get beaten up in front of him."

"These were two individual accounts, two separate. They never heard each others' stories. But they both still mentioned the clown. Even said very similar stories, and claimed the clown said the same things."

Ennoshita just turns to him. "If we mention the clown, this case will never close without a lot of arguments from the three boys' lawyers." He adds in a low tone, his eyes slanting. Daichi sighs, and cards his cropped hair. 

"I know but-" He emits a frustrated groan.

"Either way, we can all agree they were the cause of Hira Madoka's death." Daichi reluctantly nods at that. "Let's just....forget the clown, okay. After all, what are we gonna do? File a report that says a vampire clown was nearby? It'll just make the case more complicated, and I bet it was some drunk guy who has horrible fashion sense and decided to become a hooker or something."

Daichi gives a wry smile, and chuckles uneasily.

 

 

 

Two days later, they receive a report from Tsukishima and his team.

There was a chunk of meat torn out of Hira's left armpit, as well as a couple more bites along his legs. The flesh was shredded with multiple sharp objects lined in a curved row. Something bit it. They assumed an animal of some sort that could've found his body first.

 

 

Three days later, the three murderers were set on trail.

None of them mentioned the clown. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahah thanks for reading this.
> 
> And I know, this seems kinda just, off, like having a 'hey lets just jump a bunch of fucking years into the future' but trust me its important, and we will definitely see more of them as kids and what happened. BeCAUSE SHITS GONNA GET INTENSE BUT YA JUST GONNA HAVE TO GET THROUGH LIKE THE NEXT COUPLE CHAPTERS HASHAHHAHA IM SORRY


	3. my POor baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn about Oikawa and Iwaizumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ THIS:
> 
> so yes, this is like seventeen years into the future after kenma 'dies', and so basically, i'm sorry if this story comes out confusing at first, but trust me we see good shit in the future
> 
> why?
> 
> Because this is basically the plot of Stephen King's novel and because of that it's going to be fucking amazing even though my writing can't ever compare to his glorious art.
> 
> SO PLEASE BEAR WITH ME I TRUST YOU THIS IS NOT CONFUSING AT ALL AND IM RLLY EXCITED AND I WANT PEOPLE TO READ AND COMMENT ON THIS STORY BECAUSE I REALLY LOVE STEPHEN MOTHERFUCKNIG KING LIKE THE NAME 'KING' IS IN MOTHERFUCKING EVEN THO I DOUBT HE EVER FUCKED SOMEONES MOM
> 
> LIKE I AM REEALLY EXCITED FOR THIS SO PLEASE HOLD ON FOR A BIT LONGER

"Ha, don't worry, I just need to leave for awhile." Oikawa says flippity into the phone, while glancing at his nails. However, his eyes are drawn to the slight tremble of his hands that tickles all the way up to his fingertips. 

He clenches his hand into a fist, tightly, to the extent where his knuckles siphon out all the color and ends up as an ashen white. "Sweetie, darlin'," he jokes into the speaker. Between him and his manager, they all know he's gay. Of course, that's not revealed to the world yet, that World Famous volleyball player, Oikawa Tooru, the guy who flirts on every moving thing- 

Is actually only into guys. 

Of course, there are rumors of it on all tabloids, but honestly, they could spin a story of how the Kardashians are actually married to Trump, who's having an affair with Pence, and Russia's the sixth wheel and attempting to ruin their relationship because apparently they're in love with Kim Jong Un, out of the extinction of mermaids in lightly-salted oceans.  

"I need to go." Being a professional liar, who has always spat lies, whether they're used defensively or offensively to him and his surroundings, he's used to easily obscuring any possible reflections of his true emotions that might be revealed through his features.  

He's been lying since he was young. 

It's honestly okay, he's grown numb to treatment, and honestly, he's learned how to manipulate situations and others to his benefit. Being good at lying has its benefit. 

Even though many hated him. 

Sure, he may have turned to be popular in high school, but back then, before he became popular through volleyball, he was known as someone else. Oikawa Tooru, the nerd with glasses, the one with thick lenses, that practically invite, screaming, _'Come punch me! Beat me the fuck up!'_ Oikawa Tooru, with his blemished visage and lanky height due to his early puberty, was an awkward, gangly target for bullies. His unkempt hair that Oikawa never bothered to tame until high school, revealing that it's obvious he's received multiple headlocks as a child. 

His fascination in astrology, his random smartass outbursts, the fact that _he can't keep his mouth shut-_  

He was a punching bag with legs. 

He learned to gnash his teeth into paste- into a glue that'd keep his mouth sealed tight; effectively preventing any of his feelings from escaping, whenever his mom asked, 'Tooru, why do you have a black eye?" 

But this time, it's _really fucking hard._  

"Nothing's wrong, I just gotta see my mom." He whispers into the receiver, horrified that his voice is actually quivering. He can tell by the shakiness of his breath that's amplified through his speaker. 

"Oikawa...." his volleyball manager pouts, and he chuckles, hoping that the swaying pitches of his voice could be perceived as just worry for his mom. 

His mom is actually in Guatemala right now, drinking pineapple juice and probably scaring the natives by screaming in loud Japanese how they're folding laundry wrong or some shit. 

"Yeah. I gotta go."  

"Fine! You owe me though, we were gonna get the famous American model, Sasha to talk to you! _Sasha!_ And she specifically requested for you-she wouldn't agree to me and my irresistible charms, or to anybody else on the team, even Kageyama!" Oikawa squints. Yes he and Kageyama, despite their high school rivalry over who could climb the ladders of skill faster, are now on good terms. But that doesn't mean he won't do anything to be superior to him. "She wanted _you_ , and to hear you're bailing...." She audibly scoffs. "I hate you. Fine. Do whatever. See if I care." She feigns a sniff. 

"Okay. Bye." He hangs up on her, and he's able to hear the start of her indignant squawk, and he smirks at that. But it's empty. 

He sways onto his slender legs, and he shakily inhales. 

God. 

The phone call. 

It was just one simple phone call that he received, thinking that it was his manager ready to shout at him once more, or maybe it was some girl that he dumped a week ago because he was too shy to reject her, and is now calling him again angrily or crying [damn he has multiple restraining orders on so many people, it's scary. Like this one girl has so many of them from him, that she could literally only stand in three places in one city, because she started terrorizing others who may have some connection with him]- 

But it was a name he hasn't heard in so long. 

 

 _Yahaba Shigeru._  

 

When the caller identified himself, Oikawa just answered blankly. Yahaba Shigeru held no meaning to him. That is, until Yahaba continued over the phone with, _"It's back, my God Oikawa It's back, and it just killed a man a week ago._ " 

Oikawa took a bit to digest what he said. Honestly, when Oikawa first received the message, he was indifferent, just confused and slightly concerned. Yahaba Shigeru, an old childhood friend. But then, little by little, as he heard Yahaba's stifled breath over the phone, did he really come to the conclusion. 

Yahaba wasn't just 'a friend'. He was someone who he made a promise with, with a few other boys.  

A promise, that they would come back if It ever returned. 

And when Yahaba hoarsely said, _"Oikawa, please, tell me you're keeping your promise-"_  

Oikawa couldn't go back on his word. 

Maybe he was ten-fucking-years-old when he made the promise- 

But that didn't make it any less serious. 

So Oikawa answered with, _"yeah, I'm coming."_  

And now here he is, cancelling an appointment with 'Sasha', and pacing intensely around his office. Dammit. He should've said no, he shouldn't have agreed- 

Because Oikawa is suddenly remembering everything. 

Everything. 

 _How did I even forget? How did I-_  

He heard Kuroo's name, and thought nothing of it, until Yahaba continued talking. In fact, Oikawa bets that he wouldn't even give another thought to Kuroo Testurou for the rest of his life, if not for this phone call. He hasn't thought of Kuroo in what-ten? Yeah, ten years? He hasn't thought of his childhood in so long. Yeah, he vaguely recalls being bullied a lot in middle school, before transitioning to high school where he decided to confront his insecurities and change his image and his personality to try and fight back- 

But he forgot about everything else. 

He forgot about Kuroo Tetsurou, the boy who he met, who lost his best friend Kenma Kozume, eleven years ago. One year more than when Oikawa officially befriended Kuroo.  

 _Kuroo Tetsurou, Hanamaki Takahiro, Matsukawa Issei, Yahaba Shigeru, Kyoutani Kentarou, Iwaizumi Hajime._ He made a pact with these six boys. That they would come back, if It ever did as well. What was 'It'? Well, Oikawa's ten-year-old self didn't know, and he doesn't know now. He swallows a bundle of tears, which scorches the back of his throat as it slides back down. 

He's so fucking scared. He remembers Miyagi. He's not sure how he even forgot this sensation of paranoid, this trepidation, this haunted feeling. How did he forget his entire childhood? He supposes that if Yahaba really didn't call, he wouldn't even remember all the traumatic events. In fact, he's startled and surprised, and evidently, suspicious as to why he hasn't received some sense of trauma or nightmares from those past memories. It scares him.  

His memories of his childhood begins to return, but first, the simpler ones, the ones that don't include It just yet. _Oikawa Tooru, always that fucking kid being punched and beaten up because he can't keep his mouth shut._ He mirthlessly laughs. Back when the trio of bullies that scared the shit out of the entire middle school and high school years of their lives: Eto, Hoga and Hirano-Oikawa can't bother to waste energy to remember their first names. The three would always terrorize the school. And by terrorize, it meant knives, punches, and honestly, possibly fatal injuries. He remembers what they've done to Kyoutani. When they first met, Kyoutani was bleeding heavily, fumbling to staunch the blood flow from a gash across his stomach, that Eto made. 

Eto was the leader. The unstable, insane and crazy-ass motherfucker who was slow to think but quick to act.  

 

But, Oikawa was always the targeted one. His sarcastic and nonchalant attitude that's often revealed through sneers or smartass comments, attracted trouble. He was always the one to be pinned down on the concrete sidewalk outside of their school, gritting his teeth as Eto pummeled punches into his stomach until he was hacking and wheezing for air, or vomiting up bile. 

 _Iwaizumi_ _Hajime_ _. Yeah Tooru, you remember him? He was your best friends how the fuck did you forget?_ How _did_ he forget? Iwaizumi was practically _imprinted_ in his childhood; they grew up together, and their parents practically adopted both of them as their own. How the fuck did he lose contact with Iwa-chan? God that name's nostalgic, even. When was the last time he even _thought_ of Iwaizumi, the one who protected him from bullies but only got beaten up in his stead? Iwa-chan, who joined the volleyball team with him and graduated with him? Iwa-chan, who was amazing in every single way and would shout and beat the insecurities out of him, while buying him milk-bread each time they passed by the nearby bakery? 

And Hanamaki Takahiro. The boy himself, who dyed his hair bubblegum pink. And would relentlessly tease Oikawa with _Matsukawa-_  

He shakily sits back down onto his swivel chair. 

He can't back out now. His friends. His old friends who he never gave a second shit about while on the toilet and scrolling Twitter.  

If he backs out now, would he forget everything like he did for the past ten years? It felt like there was a foggy barrier, clouding his thoughts, successfully filtering out any thoughts of those past memories and keeping those locked up in the corner of his mind, where it'll never to dragged to light until someone hands him the reminder, the key to his memories. Would he forget? Would it be better to just forget? 

 _I made a promise I can't-_   

He starts in horror, as he jackknifes upright in his seat, nearly knocking over his medal for winning over a hundred volleyball matches, that sits on his wooden desk. When they made the pact, it was a blood one. They cut the palm of their hands. He quickly unfurls his shaking fist, glancing down.  

It wasn't there before. 

 _It wasn't there for ten years._  

But now, though faded and thin, there's thin white line, etched deep into the tissue of his palm. There's no way he could've possibly missed it. _Then again, you forgotten your entire childhood despite what happened. Tooru, what happened included dead bodies, murders, and a fucking monster. But you forgot it. By this point, anything's possible._   

Oikawa laughs vindictively, to nothing directly, but there's a bitter tone that shakes him to the core, as he mechanically stands up with no real will left in his body, as he grabs his nearby suitcase, and starts tossing clothes into it. 

Normally, he'd be making jokes to himself and grabbing the raunchiest outfits as well as all of his alien-printed underwears that he hasn't told anyone about, even his manager who he gossips with over coffee, but today, he's abnormally quiet and solemn, as he folds his Beyonce t-shirt. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Byakuya's used to random visitors who stumble into his bar, newcomers who he's never seen in town, and buying drinks one night, before leaving. He doesn't expect to see them again. And so, when Iwaizumi Hajime, a well-known architect and construction worker, who's known for his handsome appearance and generous attitude, walked into his bar one night, he was pleased, but he was expecting it to be a one time thing. 

But then, the next Friday night, precisely at twenty o' clock, he walked into the bar casually, as if it wasn't weird for him to be here. Byakuya adopted a personage that acts as if he wasn't utterly shocked, and just served Iwaizumi the thing he requested for the previous week. A simple ginger ale. He's apparently not big on alcohol. 

Then, the next week, at the same time as the previous two visits, Iwaizumi Hajime sauntered into the bar, beaming happily. He nearly spat out his own drink at his third appearance. 

And then, despite his own rule, which was to not become attached to the customers since they might grow gentle on them if they request for another shot despite them being clearly shitfaced or that they might start giving freebies or worry about their wellbeings and stuff, he became accustomed to viewing Iwaizumi walking through. And he even makes small talk with Iwaizumi at first. 

Now, it's been two years and they've actually became rather strong friends, who never see each other outside of Byakuya's work, and never outside of this dingy bar. And, over the course of their friendship, he's learned, that Iwaizumi lives near Boston. 

Which is on the other side of town. 

Meaning each Friday night, even though this man is probably busy as fuck and sore from constantly working on construction sights, still bothers to appear each Friday, at precisely eight, to just talk with some bartender that he randomly conversed with one week.  

So, though it's against his normal mindset he adopts in this bar, he has an insistent thought, _'Iwaizumi's going to come today at eight'_. He even set to clean the glasses early, so then he'd have a cup ready for when Iwaizumi does. He'd assume they become mutuals, as they both complained about their jobs, and snicker whenever Byakuya's boss does come around, and act as if Byakuya wasn't shittalking about him being an asshat earlier, and how they would discuss who's better, Selena Gomez or Rihanna, or just converse about memories and shit. Iwaizumi claims his childhood was boring, and that he didn't remember much, so It's mainly Byakuya who would begin to tell him stories of when he was a dumb teenager, and would steal Walmart's shopping carts and start running downtown with his friends high as fuck and sitting in the cart, acting as if they were racing horses. 

Or he'd tell him of the time they tried to boil an egg, and ended up setting fire to their house and nearly killing their housecat, who then ran away and made Byakuya cry for seven days straight. 

So, It's natural for him to nurture some belief of them having a mutually good relationship. Thus, when Iwaizumi didn't appear thirty minutes after his usual appearance time this Friday night, he dismisses it with the thought of, _'he's busy with construction work. It's not strange for thirty minutes to be gone. It's not even that much time._ ' 

From beside him, the server on shift with him, Alex, pouts. "Is he not here today?" Like probably ninety-percent of the human and animal and non-breathing population, she happens to have a soft spot for Iwaizumi. Really-it isn't fair that Iwaizumi has this charismatic effect. Every day, she'd whip him with a towel, being the little devil she is, but then begin to coddle Iwaizumi, acting like she doesn't attempt to kill Byakuya for entertainment. Iwaizumi always looks fairly confused by her inconsistent behavior. He assumes that Iwaizumi's the dense type whenever it comes to affection. 

"No, he'll come. It's been what? Two years, why'd he break tradition now?" 

At this, she gives him an 'are-you-dumb' look, which he's been receiving an awful lot from her. "Oi, dumbass. He's recently been hired, It's all over the news. He's going to be building a huge, energy conserving device in Africa, and he's been hired to help build a new village in China, which happens to be one of the crampest places in the world, and actually, with many in poverty." She states. "He has a lot on his plate, especially since he's volunteered for this work and the world's holding it out on him. He might not be coming over because he's simply too busy." She expounds. 

 

Later that night, he concludes that she's right. 

He didn't come this week. 

The next Friday, he's automatically trashed any belief of Iwaizumi appearing, because though he's only missed one week, it's a dingy, grimy bar here, that constantly smells like rotting urine and booze. And most likely Iwaizumi's missed visits will eventually become consistent. Ergo, he doesn't have high hopes. 

That didn't prevent him from peering up when eight ticked along the clock, which he'll later deny to Alex that no, he wasn't hopeful and no, it wasn't cute that he was missing his friend. Whatever relationship he had with Iwaizumi should be professional, though he does tend to find himself flexing the rules for him. After all, his chats with Iwaizumi were definitely pleasant, considering the qualities of most conversationalists. They were mostly drunk and tried to hit on him, or just loved requesting for more alcohol despite the fact he could get arrested for serving someone over the alcohol limit. But, he can't necessarily be mad at Iwaizumi over not coming, when they never officially concluded to be friends. 

To him, if Iwaizumi doesn't come to the bar anymore, then considering the circumstances and exactly how connected they are, he might as well just label Iwaizumi as dead by this point. 

 

However, two hours after eight, the door creaked open, and he dully drones, "what can I get you?" The distance between him and the footsteps from the door closed, and the sound of the high bar chairs creaking alerts him that the customer seated himself at the stool. 

He peers up from the glass he was wiping, and nearly dropped the glass itself in shock. Because sitting there, it Iwaizumi, in pure glory. 

And by God- 

He looks like absolute shit. Like some college student who lives off of instant ramen and is constantly broke, tired, and on the verge of a mental breakdown. 

"Oh, Iwaizumi, I didn't expect to see you here!" He mutters, attempting to filter out any sort of surprise, though there's obvious happiness laced with his words.  

At this, the tan construction worker peers upwards, startled. "Really? I come here on most Fridays though." He states innocently, clearly not aware of how normal human conduct works, as his eyebrows pucker together in confusion. In response, Byakuya just exhales breathily with a smile, and shakes his head to gesture that whatever he said, should be overlooked. 

"Never mind. But the usual ginger ale?" He inquires, and at this, Iwaizumi winces. 

"Give me beer, please." He states. 

Byakuya's eyebrows arch upwards at his statement, but, as his asshole boss would say, 'the customer's always right if they got cash', so he cranks up the machine, and places a tall glass underneath the spout. He watches the foam swirl inside of the glass, and fills it to the brim. He mutely hands the glass to Iwaizumi, who smiles in appreciation. He reaches into his back pocket, ready to grab his wallet most likely, and out of nowhere, and shocking himself as well, he says, 

"No worries. It's on the house." Iwaizumi frowns, clearly ready to argue as his eyebrows furrow downwards, and he adds dryly, "you just look like the personification of shit so I couldn't help but take pity on you." At this, Iwaizumi chokes on air. 

"Why the beer?" He questions curiously, before Iwaizumi can continue his honorable argument as to why it shouldn't be on the house.  

But really, Iwaizumi's lack of appearance last week, his gaunt and sallow visage, as well as the look of fatigue dragging down on his handsomely carved features, and now, with the beer, is starting to concern him.  

Objectively speaking, Iwaizumi is handsome. He's actually not necessarily broad as people would believe as his position is a construction worker. His frame is lithe and slender, though definitely toned. Byakuya knows these words because he's heard Alex loudly appreciate him, though she already has a girlfriend.  

 

[Thanks Alex. Teaching him new vocabulary and swears since America was shit.] 

 

But, at the moment, Iwaizumi's naturally tan skin is ashen, and his hunched figure is crooking his spine and frame, effectively making him appear smaller and defeated. 

"You....okay?" Byakuya awkwardly comments when Iwaizumi doesn't answer. At this, Iwaizumi suddenly downs the entire twelve ounces of beer in less than twelve seconds. 

 _Shit. And suddenly I'm even more impressed_ _by this man who looks like he's been run and hit by a garbage truck but still manages to look like he's the reincarnation of angels._  

"Hey....Byakuya, you know how I never talk about my childhood, said I didn't remember it and all?" Iwaizumi peers upwards from his slouched position, a wry grin plastered onto his face, though it's mirthless and ironic, as if smiling from the sheer irony of pain. His eyes sunken into their sockets, with various shades of orchid blossoming underneath. His eyes themselves, shamelessly observing Byakuya's expression. 

He just drank an entire glass of beer. 

And Byakuya knows for a fact that the reason why Iwaizumi doesn't drink, is because he's secretly a light weight, and the reason why nobody else knows, is because that'd be bad reputation among his coworkers and they'll never let him live it down.  

 

So basically Alex but times ten. 

 

However, Iwaizumi doesn't even seem tipsy the slightest, nor intoxicated. 

He gives it a few more seconds. 

Iwaizumi starts talking. 

His speech stumbles, but it seems more out of mental caution and fear. His words don't slur, and his dialect in English is perfect, though more than once, he utters in words that Byakuya can easily translate in his head-he's Japanese too. 

"Well, I really didn't remember my childhood. But all of a sudden I do. Like, I'm getting memories I haven't thought of in forever, I'm suddenly reminiscing while I'm driving to Dunkin Donuts and nearly get myself killed because I wasn't paying attention to the road." He snorts, before stifling a chuckle, that escalates into a hoarse laugh, and Byakuya just grins uneasily. The laugh, though coarse and low, radiates coldness. However, the chortle seems to be directed more to himself, than to Byakuya. To Byakuya, he conveys it as disbelief and disappointment in oneself. 

"I never gave it a second thought. For ten, eleven, fuck I don't know. For a long time." Iwaizumit continues, his timbre genuine, which resolves Byakuya's credibility in him. Iwaizumi's jade eyes foggen suddenly, but not from alcohol. "But now I'm thinking, and though it seems like normal things that'd I just know for the rest of my life, it's as if I'm realizing or figuring these things out now. We used to be poor. Just my mom and I. Dad died when I was four-left us all in debt." He begins to swipe the pad of his thumb against the glass rim of his empty drink. 

"And....I was regularly beaten up as a kid. Friends with some dude, Oikawa Tooru-" That name sounds vaguely familiar, but Byakuya first follows with Iwaizumi's story. "He was my best friend, actually. Wasn't until high school he started to get his shit together, not that he was bad before. But in middle school, he was constantly targeted by some jerk, Eto and his gang of assholes. If there was ever truly a kid who was evil for no good reason other than his mindset, it was him." He concludes. "Back then, I would always try and stop Oikawa from provoking Eto, and in the end, it got me hurt. I didn't mind it, since I knew that Oikawa was trying, and he was a good friend." A soft smile that stretches taunt across his lips, conveys happiness, but, underneath the yellowish lighting and dim bar setting, it appears ghastly. 

He supposes the smile would appear grim anyways, judging by his disheveled appearance. 

"But....really, Eto was a horrible kid." His smile was quick to curl into a frown. "Look-" he unbuttons his shirt, to reveal his slim and toned waste, that, right above his bellybutton, shows off a scar. He grimaces, and Byakuya inhales sharply between his teeth, emitting a snappish hit. The thin scar etched into his stomach, was stark white in contrast to his dark skin, and, there are actually multiple scars, all contributing to form a capitalized 'E'. Byakuya supposes he got that scar before Iwaizumi was even a man. "He once got really pissed at me, really pissed. I guess that was my fault too. But back then, Eto was a year older tham us-he was bigger and taller. And I was a pretty short kid."  

 _You're still pretty short._  

Byakuya doesn't say that.  

"And he was able to do that to me. Had a knife," 

"That's....really not okay." Byakuya inputs ever so helpfully. 

"Yep." He exclaims, as he begins to slot the button of his shirt back into their holes, and the puckered scar vanishes behind the curtain of clothes. Byakuya can't help but continue staring at the shirt where he knows the scar runs underneath, as if the scar is still in view, glorified in horror and bad memories. "But he was Eto, and we don't argue against him. Don't we?" He scoffs. "But....really, I never gave thought of Eto. It was as if, even though I had the scar from him, it just....never existed. I change clothes every day, I take showers, I do a lot of things that require taking off my shirt, but I just never noticed the scar. Like as I think back, I remember the scar there, I just completely ignored it. As if it wasn't there, but holy shit do I acknowledge it now, do I remember it now. No I'm remembering it right now-" He ends with a barking laugh, that seemingly ricochets in the tiny bar. 

Byakuya shudders, as the atmosphere doesn't necessarily thicken, but rather, as if it increases in density, plummeting down on his shoulders, his wellbeing, his obliviousness and lack of fear from just mere minutes ago- and suffocating everything underneath. 

"A-and, shit....I can't believe I forgot it all in the first place." He scowls. Silence settles between them. "Hey. I'm gonna go." 

"Wait excuse me what-" 

"Airplane. I'm heading back to Miyagi." 

"What? Wait, what about your project?" 

"I don't plan to back out on them. I already finished the blueprints-I've been planning this project for more than four years, actually. My people can continue this project with me if I don't come back." _If I don't come back._ And as Byakuya stares at Iwaizumi, observing his posture, his face, and his eyes- 

His eyes that reveal that he's still sober despite just downing an entire twelve ounces of beer. Byakuya comes to the realization, that the reason why he appears sober, is due to adrenaline. Adrenaline from fear. His entire body is tense and taunt, his laughter forced, everything about him, screaming absolute trepidation and preparation for it. 

"Hey, Iwaizumi, are you okay?" 

"No. I'm not." He states, his voice raspy. "I'm so fucking scared of what'll come next." He confesses, and he gnaws on his bottom lip. "I'm really scared." He repeats similarly. Byakuya is scared too. Scared for Iwaizumi. Maybe Iwaizumi is just out of it for a moment, going down into hysterics just for today. But as Iwaizumi slowly stands up, purposefully taking his time to slide the glass over, it's as if he's stalling for time.  

 _What time?_  Byakuya wants to scream. He's able to easily find an answer, just through obvious conclusion of what he just witnessed. _Stalling for more time with his life. He looks like a man who knows he's gonna die._  

"Here." Iwaizumi suddenly reaches into the breastpocket of his shirt, and retreives a few, tiny disks that glitter beautifully, even though the only source of light in their vicinity is the disgusting lamps that Alex complains about constantly. 

"What?" 

"Here. Coins. Completely silver," he gives him four coins, that Byakuya can instantly identify, as pure silver. Not just bronze sandwiches, dudes made to impress the foolish. He's never really seen silver in a money state, and he feels his breath stills, faltering somewhere along his lungs' airways. That's a lot of money. Something that he never got to witnessed, which should be conveyed as the obvious judging by his current job occupation for the past twelve years. "You have kids, I remember you telling me. This'll help you and your family." 

Byakuya hates himself for feeling sour at having to say these next words: "I couldn't possibly take these." _Even though I really want to._  

"Hey, if I don't come back alive, I won't need them, won't I?" Iwaizumi states with such finality and with such a offhanded tone, Byakuya nearly misses the lilting tone drenched and battered in solemnity.  

Iwaizumi truly believes he's going to die. 

"Really. You're a good friend." Iwaizumi's smile, genuine and honest, its innocence completely mutilated and contaminated by the aura of resolute apprehension that's making his eyes glassy, his lips quiver, and his features sag. "I gotta go. I hope....I'll see you again." _I hope you don't end up dead_. 

He leaves the bar. 

And Byakuya fucking lets him. 

 

 

He lets that poor man, march into whatever foreboding certain death that remained unsaid for his faith. And he lets him. 

 

 

 

"What the fuck?" Alex leers snidely. "You just let that man go after being all cryptic and shit?" She scowls.  

He shrugs. 

"You're gonna let him die." 

"I don't think he needs help with that." Alex snorts at that, and Byakuya, just forces a laugh out, dry and cracked. _Yeah, what the fuck you thinking? He was just probably going through a bad breakup, or his mom died. Definitely his mom died._ Byakuya guiltily admits that he wishes that the actual problem, was that Iwaizumi's mother died. 

Because if it wasn't, then it implied that what he spouted out, what his aura radiated was supported by something credible. 

And whatever that credible thing was to be, scares Byakuya. 

 


	4. hdflajg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: for domestic violence on Hanamaki's part.
> 
> Also yeet guys im alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like how I just randomly slotted Kyoutani into here. It's because in the actual book, the character I based Kyoutani off of, actually like. Committed suicide when he got a phone call due to depth reasons that actually are probably much different than you think they are, but like.  
> I was like.  
> Nah man.  
> So Kyoutani's gonna be alive and I'm going to make him fit into this story :^)

Surfing through his pills, Matsukawa's thick hands stumble through the cabinet, tossing bottles and capsules into the plastic bag that he always brings and already stuffed with all of his signed prescriptions. His breath stuttering as nervousness provokes his nerves as his thoughts run through his reasoning for packing up so suddenly. He grasps for his inhaler, and placing it against his lips, feels the tension of his airways relax as the medication soothes his throat, thus allowing oxygen to pass through. 

He places the inhaler in his back pocket, rather than into his bag.

 _"Matsukawa?"_  

He stiffens, but reluctantly, continues to toss more bottles into his bag, thickly ignoring the voice. He'd be overcome with guilt if he actually confronted the source of the voice. 

Rather, he remains captivated by his medication. Names that he didn't understand as a child, those labels that he cannot read, pass by as a smear of ink as he mechanically cram them into his plastic bag. His mother always insisted for him to have them on him at all times, which lead to a lot of taunting and sneers whenever he entered school, grasping a large bag of medication. He hated it so much, even more, when his mother screamed at the teachers, refusing to allow him to participate in gym, though the coach always claimed that he had a knack for sports, and seemed  _fine._ Fine enough to play volleyball, the sport that clasped fates with all of his other friends through high school even, while he enviously stewed in silence on the bleachers.

 _"Matsukawa!"_ He finally exhales sharply, and drops his bag.  _Do I need all of this?_ No. These medications are mainly for his weakening body, but they're not necessary for a few days away.

 _Few days away._   _Mattsun Mattsun!_ Mattsun.That name causes his entire body to lock up. He doesn't recognize it, but using practical sense, he can obviously identify it as his nickname. Did anyone ever call him that?

_Yeah._

_Mattsun! Mattsun! So cute! You really think that you're going to leave for_ only _a couple days?_ Matsukawa hasn't heard this lilting tone of voice in so long, but he can easily identify that the voice's dramatic cooing is Oikawa's.  _Couple days, couple days! Hahahaha! Why not just forever? You're never gonna leave once you enter! Stay in Miyagi! After all,_ _we all float there!_

Matsukawa's quivering hands release its grip out of shock, on the plastic pill bottle, and it clatters loudly onto the floor, and the white matte pills within, jostle just as loudly. 

 _"Matsukawa, come out now!"_ He does, and faces his wife, whose features, etched deeply into her face, conveys obvious concern, and fear. "What's going on Matsukawa? Are you going somewhere?" Her screeching tone of voice whips against his brain and ears. "What's going on? You've been acting strange since that phone call-" 

_Phone call._

Yahaba called.

And Matsukawa answered.

He regrets it.

"Matsukawa!" Her slapping tone refuses to allow his mind to wander. "Here....you're just tired, come, sit-" She wheezes, her blubbering tone thick and greasy against Matsukawa's skin, as if trying to coat him, allowing his thoughts to never enter as they slide off of the shell of oil. Flattery thick and suffocating, yte oddly comforting as he's lived with such a sensation since he was a kid, from his mother's constant care. He takes a hesitant step back, as she reaches for a slice of cake. "Just eat this, sit down. What was on the phone call?" She asks, her shrill voice gentling to a croon, and Matsukawa senses danger, as she fails to hide the obvious curiosity within her tone.

_I married my mom._

_Ew wait no that sounds weird._

Matsukawa inwardly snickers in his head. When was the last time he actually had no filter, and voiced out his thoughts?  _There was someone who I shared jokes with. Hanamaki Takahiro, wasn't it?_ He hasn't though of the boy in so long, nor did he even talk to him ever since he moved away.

Surprisingly, though they were extremely close, at least, Matsukawa's believes they were, he's pretty sure that this is the first time he even truly thought of Hanamaki as something more than just a name or a friend he used to know.

Because right now, he's considering Hanamaki as someone that he really, really fucking misses.

And staring at his wife, who he married out of peer pressure, he cannot help but wonder,  _what would Hanamaki say? If he saw me in this position, married to a woman who I never loved more than as an acquaintance? Well, if Hanamaki's the same as he was when I knew him, then he'd probably start spouting memes, to be honest._  

"Honey-" 'Honey' has no value to him. It holds no worth. Another word that he just says out of habit, having no true meaning that if existed, he wouldn't bother to support. "I need to go."

"What was the phone call for? _Matsukawa what was the phone call for?_ "

Staring at her, he blankly tilts his head. He recalls what his mother would constantly shout and scream at him, claiming that he was going to get hurt if he went to even the library, walking alone. How she would demand for everything he done, invading the privacy he's never certainly understood since he never actually had it before, over protectiveness becoming an understated trait she upheld. All it did was nurse the brewing sense of anxiety every time he opens his phone, even to this day.

He refuses to allow anyone to touch his personal belongings, not even his wife. Nobody. Granted, he's not particularly close with anyone, as he's already suffocating by his wife, who he actually does like in general since she has no bad intentions, but he doesn't know why, but he ran back to someone who would obviously just awaken his paranoid receptors. Nobody can touch his stuff, he finally got his privacy when he moved out of his mother's house at the age of 18 [well, more like ran away, but that's not a big deal since that means he's allowed to be a slut for Doritos past eight once he lived alone], and he refuses to relinquish his grasp on it.

The way that his mother would force him to the doctors, claiming he was sick, that he was ill and needed medication, the way that she would never allow him to touch domesticated animals, claiming there were diseases, never allowing him to enter the internet, claiming it'd disrupt his sanity-

He grew up as a rather sheltered and scared kid.

Afraid of everything, since he was unsure of it. Bitter, too, since he was jealous of the freedom others had.

Yes, but Hanamaki was quick to risk everything, quick to help him, and quick to teach him what his mother would probably lock him in a cell if she knew he was meddling in these things. But he loved the risk itself. Exhilarating and new to him, his childhood wasn't half as bad when he made friends. 

He even recalls the first time he smoked a cigarette, despite his asthma, since Hanamaki happened to always have a stash crumpled in his pocket all the time, and is highly addicted to them despite being around fifth-sixth grade. He hated smoking, and never delved into it again, but he held no remorse for attempting it, as in that little case, though his mother never knew, it made him feel free, rebellious, almost defying the pressure and suffocated freedom that belonged to him.

And staring at his wife, he can easily identify the glassy eyes, showcasing her emotions freely. Fear. He's associated himself with fear many times, before. "I need to go." He states firmly, and her wide jaw unhinges out of shock, and fright. "I have to go," he repeats.

He was a troublemaker as a kid, whenever he was free from home, he's done everything that every other kid has done, since he hated the way he was locked and oppressed from his overbearing mother. As a kid, he'd lash back, talk back, laugh and do everything disdainful, as an outlet before he's sent back to the prison. He never complained about it, since he's seen how Kuroo was treated by his family, the way Hanamaki was physically oppressed by his father. He could have worse.

So when did he fall submissive, so quiet and quaint underneath his current wife's hand, who is just like his mother?

Pathetic.

"You can't stop me." He hisses, guilt bubbling within him. It's not like his wife wants to be this way, it's not like she doesn't care for him, rather, it's the opposite. She simply cares too much, or, really, relies and depends on his safety too much to the point where she latches on like a child with their favorite accessory. 

"Matsukawa, no stay-" She attempts to reach to him, but due to her wider girth, she's unable to quickly shove through the dinner table, and, unable to soothe the itching sensation of guilt and maybe a bit of cruel and disgusting satisfaction, he reaches for his messily made suitcase bulging with unfolded clothes, and walks out of the cramped apartment. 

He walks out, without his plastic bag of pills, into the free and spacious reality.

* * *

Wes glances at Hanamaki, who's complaint and settled on their bed sheets. He's content. That is until he sees the ashes scattered against the window ledge, and easily connects it to the smoking stub of paper, tossed into the trashcan. 

He supposes he came in, and Hanamki didn't have enough time to dispose of the evidence.

Anger boils within him.  _Goddamn_ he  _hates_ it whenever Hanamaki smokes. It means that Hanamaki simply disobeyed his easy order. His one easy order. Hanamaki should've learned by now, that he's being reliant, that he's being easy on him. Snarling, Wes yanks at the bed sheets the pink-haired man is curled upon, and at this, Hanamaki yelps and topples off the sheets.

"Didn't I tell you not to smoke?" Wes grinds his teeth to a paste, in an attempt to transfer some of his anger out of his body. 

Hanamaki glances at him blankly, and at this, as Wes claps eyes with the unwavering, brown pupils, it causes his anger to flare up, the bubbling temper boiling, nastily overflowing and flooding his entire body. "Answer me when I'm talking to you!" Just yesterday, when he punished Hanamaki for being late upon returning from work, the lithe, slender and simply just lacking muscled man, was withering and apologizing with little sobs.

Right now, Hanamaki's beady eyes dilate as they stare at him, as if suddenly noticing his presence.

Wes didn't like that.

He doesn't like that his intimidating presence left Hanamaki's mind. He has to be the sole purpose the latter's mentality, after all, they're married, aren't they? They're together, and Hanamaki should get that through his fucking walnut-sized brain.

"M'sorry. Just stressed today-" Hanamaki mutters, his words barely coherent and dazed as his eyes flit to the other side, and towards the drawer of clothes that he has. 

"That's what you said the other day!" Wes snarls. Two days, strung together, will eventually lead to more misunderstandings, to more problems, to simply, more unacceptable behaviors caused by the notion that Hanamaki can get away with things.

Getting away with things, means that Hanamaki believes that he's weaker than Wes really is. He can't allow even the slightest possibility of that idea entering his husband's head. 

"Sorry then." Hanamaki answers rather curtly, and at this, Wes feels himself bristle. The curt tone, is one that inexplicably makes him feel inferior, almost condescending. And, without even bothering to elaborate, Hanamaki starts to trifle clothes out his drawers.

Has he gone mad?

_Has he gone mad?_

Ignoring him?

"Hanamaki what the hell are you doing?" Wes leers, offended that Hanamaki hasn't bothered to acknowledge his mistake with something more than an offhanded apology. "Hanamaki!"

"Look, Wes, I'm sorry, but something important came up and I gotta go-" Hanamaki explains vaguely, as he reaches for the suitcase in the corner of their apartment. 

Wes is caring, and he's fairly considerate. Therefore, he knows that Hanamaki's area of work, as a fashion and clothes designer, is hard. Especially since he works designing clothes for sports, which means Hanamaki has to consider the material he uses, and how well it'd fit a person playing a certain type of sport.

Ergo, whenever Hanamaki comes home too late, he's considerate, and settles with only a slap or two against the boy's face. 

However, this is different.

Leaving.

He's bringing clothes. That means he's leaving for a certain amount of time, and neither of them discussed this before. The last time this happened, Hanamaki actually became angry over the fact that Wes won't let him go, won't let him go to this fashion convention in London, and that ended with Hanamaki crying out his apologies, while nursing a broken wrist. It's not like Wes doesn't notify the smaller male of his behavior and how he doesn't accept rebellious or childish behavior, he flatly tells him. Therefore, he's well aware that he can't ever leave the apartment without Wes, or without getting Wes' permission except for normal work hours.

So, why would Hanamaki bother to just set off without discussing this, even though it's obvious Wes won't let him go?

"Hanamaki, what the hell-" He reaches for the man's wrist, gripping it, and at this, Hanamaki yanks away.

_Yanks away._

_He's fighting back._

Does Hanamaki actually believe he has the authority, the right to retaliate? Wes grabs Hanamaki's shoulders and slam them harshly against the drawer, rattling the large mirror attached flimsily to it. "Hanamaki, stop this! You're not going anywhere, you fucking bitch-"

_"I'm busy!"_

Hanamaki's eyes had shuttered with fright at Wes' physical actions. But, there was another emotion evident in his flinching eyes.

Annoyance.

Wes automatically perceives the annoyance, as if Hanamaki is looking at him, like some insignificant insect, as if an irritating yapping puppy who nips at one's ankles and leap in their way.  _He hates that_. He's insulting, provoking his pride, his authority, his domination.

"HANAMAKI!" He roars, and yanks for the belt looped around the bedstand just an arm's reach away.

This time, Hanamaki's eyes really do widen slightly from fear, and it's as if satisfaction's been injected into Wes, like some sort of heroine. A drug-induced crazed, to want more. To see more of that trepidation, consternation, to lace with his features. Then, the expression hardens. It hardens into the same expression from before, but this time, not just within Hanamaki's eyes, but set in his frowning mouth pressed so thin that it nearly disappears, set into his furrowed eyebrows, set into his wrinkle of nose.

"Stop it, Wes." Almost as if he's chiding Wes. Wes is left bewildered, unsure. What is going on? _What is going on?_ When had Hanamaki demoted him from a god to follow, to a child that he scolds whenever he gets too loud?

He would never admit that he's afraid, and due to Wes' mindset, upbringing and lack of education which ultimately screwed with his common sense and morals, is unable to even recognize that he's afraid. He just places this emotion that he doesn't associate with this moment, as just rage and anger. 

 _I'm going to fucking kill this bitch_.

* * *

Hanamaki has to go.

The phone call.

When Yahaba told him that they had to come back to Miyagi.

He was scared. Didn't want to go.

But then again, what does he have waiting here?

 _Wes?_  

Staring at Wes' visage contorted with fury, vindictiveness and shock, he decides, he has nothing here. Therefore, he automatically ducks when the heavy buckle  snaps towards the side of his head, in an attempt to frighten him. "Wes, I have to go, I'll explain it later-"

 _"No, explain it now!"_ He screeches, and this time, he shoves Hanamaki to the side, and Hanamaki grunts as his body slams against the carpet. The pain subsides, but is instantly replaced with a new one, as something familiar, cold, and sharp, bruises his shoulder, as a pressure crushes his legs. Skittering away, and kicking, his legs snapping at the weight on him, he successfully snakes out from underneath Wes, but still buckles when the belt lashes against his ribs, shaking his bones and pain flares up from his hip.

"WES!" He growls, and at this, Wes actually does stop. 

Hanamaki glowers at the man.

If only Hanamaki knew that retaliation scared the man, shook Wes to the core, that his own expression right now, of unbridled irritation and anger from being disturbed flashing from his cold eyes, his restrained tone, from his locked posture, he'd know, that this man in front of him was a cowardly piece of shit who only married Hanamaki since he looked like easy prey.

But Hanamaki, being the type who was constantly abused through physical and sexual means as a child, couldn't recognize fear in others who claimed to be stronger than him. He couldn't. He knows that such a concept exists in this world, but never would he apply it to himself and his own relationships-he was never taught to be aware of these things. 

So he just assumed Wes was shocked, when his face froze.

"I. Need. To. Go." And at this, he scrambles for his suitcase, and zips it closed, and jerks it upright. He begins to leave, that is, until heavy hands that he's familiar with so much, whacks his head to the side, and jerks his suitcase back. 

"Bitch you think you can talk back to me? You think that you can just humiliate me?  _YOU knew what you were getting into, so don't act as if I'm the attacker here!"_ Another strong hand settles harshly onto his jaw.

Ah.

Right.

It is Hanamaki's fault for staying with him.

After all, after they once had an explosive argument, when Hanamaki shouted at him, said that Wes wasn't allowed to hit him while they were both in the car-

Wes parked the car against the side of the road. Told Hanamaki to get out, that nobody was stopping him, that if he wants to leave, he can. And Hanamaki hated himself, but he ended up crying, and begging Wes, to let him stay.  _God I hated myself, I should've left._ But he couldn't. He didn't want to leave a situation he was so interlaced with, that his life tangled itself in. He's used to it, and somewhere along the way, he could easily manipulate himself into believing that either way, his abuser actually did love him. And honestly, he isn't sure. He's aware that he could be in self-denial, but by this point, he couldn't tell if his abuser was just an asshole who didn't love him, or actually did genuinely love him, but was just messed up.

So he stayed, so that he could still believe that he was loved. He was more afraid of being alone, of interacting with the unknown, than staying with someone who might love him but physically and emotionally attacks him. 

He hates himself for it, but he stayed.

 

But this was more important than him wanting to stay. 

"Leave me alone." He states flatly, emotionless and lacking any indication that he fucking cares about what Wes does right now. And as the belt strikes his shoulder, this time, out of sheer irritation that Wes wouldn't let him go, causes him to snap his wrist out and grasp onto the belt. He played volleyball, he has a good hand-eye coordination, though it's all just faint muscle memory now, perhaps out of sheer luck or a blessing of God, he actually did grab it.

He never felt annoyed by Wes.

Mad, angry, perhaps vengeful and bitter only to feel guilty later on for even feeling that since he knows that Wes has to put up with him and bothers to love him despite being so problematic-

Never annoyed. But! But! This was the one big thing that Hanamaki actually ever seriously asked for.  _One thing._ And Wes won't let him have it. 

At that broiling thought that flares the heat of his nerves, Hanamaki pistons his elbow back, and since Wes' grip has slackened from shock when he caught the buckle that left his palm stinging and throbbing, he's able to successfully steal away the belt. 

He's holding the belt.

He's holding the fucking belt, the thing that has kissed and burned his back, his ribs, his face, his chest for so long.

_He has authority._

Perhaps he's no longer in a sober state, only drunken off of anger, fear, and indignition, something that he didn't believe he had the right or dignity to anymore, but he coils the thick leather around his palm quickly, and backing off, snaps the buckle against Wes' skin when he rushes back.  _"BITCH, GIVE IT BACK! GIVE IT BACK!"_ Wes chants it like a religious mantra, as he stares at Hanamaki, who just wordlessly lashes the belt against Wes, who begins to recoil.

It hurts.

Wes is hurting a lot. Pride, mentally, and physically wise. He's afraid. Something that Hanamaki has yet to understand, that he could invoke fear into such a man. Wes can't comprehend either, he was taught all his life, this was how to act, this was how to treat, that  _he_ is the best. Every whip of the belt, was like a strike to his slimy dignity. "GIVE THE BELT BACK!" And finally, out of desperation, takes the forgotten suitcase and throws it at Hanamaki, who stumbles and at that moment, Wes feels the need to redeem himself, redeem his masculanity. So he does take the belt back, and begins to furiously whip it forward, at Hanamaki, who attempts to shelter his body using the suitcase.

Hanamaki wrestles himself onto his feet, and momentarily disrupts Wes' momentum spawned from anger, by shoving the suitcase back.

 

"Shut up." And, perhaps out of just automatic defense when he saw the belt hiss, recoil and begin to strike at him, Hanamaki reaches to his side, and sends the large mirror above their dresser, down. It shatters, exploded, and sent smithereens screaming and slamming out of the forming cracks of the mirror, as larger fragments embed into the carpet, and over Wes.

Hanamaki's breathing rapidly increases, and his chest slams against his heart at a scary pace. 

Wes is listless, his eyes shut, with large shards of glass protruding out of his flesh.

Hanamaki swallows, and takes a step back, only to hiss in pain, as his own sole smashed down onto a sliver of glass.

Glancing at the body once more, he rushes to the bathroom, hobbling on his good foot, and yanks the larger piece of glass out of his foot, whining as he does so.

Tossing the glass into a wastebin and ignoring the cuts that appeared on his hand due to handling glass so carelessly, he attempts to awkwardly perch his leg onto the sink and rinse out the wound, as he simultaneously reaches into the medicine cabinet above the crusty mirror, for a thin roll of bandages that by now, is his best friend.

Once he's done swathing his foot with bandages, he steps out, avoiding the fucked up mess, and reaches for his suitcase.

He walks out, without looking back.

He bets if he did, he would've stayed out of guilt. He just left a man, bleeding out of multiple lacerations, out on the carpet. He could die. Wes could actually possibly fucking die. And while there's this sensation of exhilaration, of something new that Hanamaki rarely experiences, he feels bilious. He loved the way that he stood up to Wes, the way he grabbed onto his belt. 

But he still wants to vomit.

He most definitely would've stayed behind out of guilt.

 _Did you mean out of fear?_ His entire body jerks.  _Out of fear, out of fear, such a scared-cat-SCAREDY CAT!_ The familiar voice that he's pretty sure belongs to one of the old bullies that he would constantly avoid as a child, whispers into his ears in a greasy fashion, licking and fucking his thoughts. It warps into the voice of Wes.  _Coward, coward, running away? Running away to where, huh?_ _Tell me!_ And then, into his father's.  _Oh, oh, honey....I worry about you._

Hanamaki runs, calling a taxi.

* * *

 Kyoutani wants to go home.

 _Someone please just kill me._ He stares, unimpressed as he hangs up the phone.

Yahaba Shigeru, huh?

Utter asshole.

Kyoutani remembers him.

Hated him. Mutual feelings. Stole his juicebox once. 

It wasn't until he boarded the airplane, did the memories rip through him, leaving him shaking, quivering and sweating in his seat.

[His neighbor offered him a Caprisun packet. The dude was five, and Kyoutani, out of humiliation and awkwardness, ended up accepting it].

* * *

Kuroo became an author.

He's not sure where the inspiration came out from, and certainly if he met up with anyone who knew him when he was a child, would be surprised as well. A horror author. He vaguely remembers that when he was a child, he was easily shaken by watching  _Finding Nemo_ , thinking that it was scary for the son to be all alone and missing home.

He was also very much scared of  _Coraline_  and  _Dora the Explorer_. He's pretty sure that the latter was an emotionally traumatic experience that's universal, though.

Odd, considering how he stopped considering his home,  _home_ , after the incident.

"Shh, it's okay." He sets a large, hand, calloused by Saturdays when he plays volleyball with his ten-year-old neighbor, onto the purring body of his cat. "Kuro, it'll be fine." He may have named his cat 'Kuro' due to ironic issues. He also believes Kenma would call him that, as well. "I'll be away, I'll be....going home for the week." His large hand quivers, and at this, Kuro backs out from underneath it, unimpressed by his petting.

He always believes Kuro to be up par with human intelligence [which shouldn't be too hard, considering how most of this world has proven to be smarter than a brick], so, he constantly talks to his cat.

No he's not lonely.

He's perfectly fine, thank you.

"Kuro....an old friend of mine, Yahaba-innocent dude, looks like a cream puff-called me, told me about some stuff, and like....I gotta go home, ya know?" The ebony cat meows pitifully. "Don't worry, I'll be back-"  _Hahahaha! Once you go down the river, and float with all of us, you won't!_ He stiffens, and in unison, Kuro bristles, hissing.

He just assumed it was all in his head.

But the voice was too clear, to coherent and sneering, for him to dissuade. That was Kenma's voice.

And his cat just detected it. Or maybe Kuro was sneezing. "I haven't thought of Kenma in a long time." He approaches a change of subject, unnerved by the sudden cackle. "Look, you don't get it." He stares at the lined eyes of his beautiful cat who he would kill and die for. If someone hurt this cat he'd kill everyone in this room and himself. "I loved Kenma, okay. At that time, he was my best friend, he was my favorite kid in the world, he was....my only friend back then. I truly loved him." Kuroo states bitingly, and at this, Kuro purrs, his tail flicking from side to side.

"But I haven't thought about him. For what? A decade maybe? I loved him a lot, like...dude." He stares into the soulless eyes of his cat. While he loves Kuro, he swears that he's really a devil's reincarnate. Within the first week of adoption, Kuro decided that a great way for them to become friends would be to try and eat his goldfish and his fingers. The cat also tried more than once to lock him in his own room.

"I don't....I don't know. It's not like I forgot about him, it's more like he just never appeared. Like I never thought of him in depth, ya know?" The cat tries to roll off the table.

He stares.

The cat meows.

"Anyways....the thing is. It's just strange. I haven't thought of Miyagi in so long." He murmurs. "And...." He stiffens. "I always....thought my horror books were original. With the monsters, explicit gore, horror, bodies....I thought they were all original. Whenever I start writing a new horror book, I always got these chills, like those chills you get when you're about to hack up a furball." Kuro nods. "That was what I got when Yahaba called me. Like I wanted to vomit and stuff. Like when you want to vomit after eating my avocado toast each morning even though I tell you not to." He tries to bridge the gap of culture between him and his cat, in an attempt to find common ground where Kuro can understand his feelings.

"So I gotta go to Miyagi. it's important, I can sense it." He says.

Kuro gives him a countenance that conveys disgrace. "Hey, don't worry. I'll drop you off with our neighbor, he loves you. Jean, was his name, right?" At the sound of his name, Kuro hisses automatically, falls off the table, and scampers underneath a couch. "You guys are best friends, you'll do fine-" He shoves a hand underneath the furniture, only to retract it when sharp fangs snag onto his flesh. "No! Kuro! Stop! I know he might pull on your tail sometimes but he's a kid, give him a chance I'm sure you'll learn to love him-"

_"MREOW!"_

"Kuro!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. 
> 
> I don't like romanticizing illness, situations, or problems.
> 
> So if you think there's gonna be like something like that between Hanamaki and Matsukawa, ya wrong.  
> Like there's definitely going to be healing, and like some insightful talk and shit and stuff, but that's just because part of hte healing proccess includes like. Talking. It's better to talk to someone about your siutation than bottle it in, it's not mentally healthy and can produce depressing thoughts as well as unsure decisions and a lack of being able to determine things, especially if it's a decision by only yourself.
> 
> So yeah, there's definitely gonna be some love going around, but in both platonic and romantic ways, but the situation itself, is not going to be brought up explicitly among them, because that's not how real life works, or how people heal properly [well, it depends on the person].


End file.
